Tinker's War (The Tinkerer's Daughter Book 2)

by Sedgwick, Jamie

  Chapter 21

  Our conversation turned to other things for a short while. Tinker educated us on a few facts he’d learned. The same fate as Anora had befallen Avenston. Between the two cities, thousands of people were being held captive. “Soon they will be put to work in the mines,” Tinker said. “Keep an eye out for the slaves when you’re sabotaging the Vangars. I’d hate to see innocents caught in the crossfire.”

  I also took the opportunity to share some of the knowledge I’d learned with Tinker. He hadn’t had the opportunity to look at Vangar technology up close, so I explained to him all that I had learned about their combustion engines and gyroplanes. He was fascinated by the concepts, but regretted that he probably wouldn’t have a chance to explore its possibilities while he was in the city. “First things first,” he said. “When all this is over, then I can go back to my experiments. Until then, let’s focus on our plan.”

  We left before the ten o’clock curfew, which didn’t give us much time to talk about anything else. I said my goodbyes to Tinker with a heavy heart. I had an awful feeling that something bad was going to happen, but I didn’t know if it was a premonition or just the same fear that had been gnawing at my gut for weeks.

  Back in the alley, we gathered up our weapons and left the city without a word among us. The others had just as much to consider as I did, and none of us were happy with the news. We wanted to kill Vangars, yes, but we wanted it done. We didn’t want to attack them one piece at a time, winnowing down their defenses. We wanted the Vangars gone as fast as they had come. Tinker’s plan was just the opposite. It meant that the Vangars would be with us for some time to come.

  Back at the camp, I briefed Analyn on all that I had learned and then she called a gathering in the mess tent to share our plans with the others. Analyn turned the meeting over to me, and I somewhat nervously related Tinker’s plan to the full room. I watched their faces as I spoke. I saw mixed reactions, but very little argument.

  I couldn’t help but feel disappointed when I finished and not one person had a comment or question. I’m not sure what I expected. After all, we all knew that we couldn’t face the Vangars head on. I just thought the others might have something to say. I must confess I would have liked to see more courage in that room. I wasn’t so much surprised as disappointed. They all turned to Analyn, their queen, waiting for her to tell them what to do.

  I had long since learned that few people possess the kind of fortitude it takes to question their leaders. Humans and Tal’mar are no different when it comes to this. The individual is always more worried about calculating his or her personal outcome in a situation than making that situation a success. Regrettably, I had come to learn that many people would choose to loose the war if it meant they could be the head slave, rather than win the war and be equal with everyone else.

  These people would do what Analyn told them, I wasn’t worried about that, but I knew that when things got tough they would throw up their arms and surrender the first chance they got. I saw this written on many faces that night, and I couldn’t ignore the feeling of helplessness building inside of me.

  It was all over by midnight. As the crowd filed out of the tent, Analyn came to my side.

  “If we’re going to make this strategy of Tinker’s work, we’re going to need more than just one team of fighters,” she said. “We have a handful of ex-soldiers among the refugees. I’m going to have them start training more teams.”

  “What about us?” I said. “Do you want my team to help with the training?”

  “I wish you could, but we don’t have that much time. Tomorrow, I want you to visit the Vangars’ mine. If they’re already working, do what you can to slow them down. Sabotage their equipment, steal their tools, kill the guards. Do whatever it takes. When you’re done, report back to me.”

  I considered her plan, and an idea struck me. “You know, if that gyro was back in one piece I could scout ahead and find out exactly what we’re up against. I could also get there and back quite quickly.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” she said. “The Vangars probably wouldn’t give you a second look either, because it’s one of their machines.” She stared at me for a moment, weighing her decision. “All right,” she said at last. “Get Cleff and the other mechanics working on it. I want it ready to fly by dawn.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  I left the tent and wandered to the south end of the camp, wondering what I’d just gotten myself into. I hadn’t even mentioned that we had an issue with the fuel. I still hadn’t heard from Cleff about the combination of kerosene and alcohol he’d been experimenting with, either. If it wouldn’t power the engine correctly, the gyro wouldn’t even get off the ground. None of us had ever owned a vehicle like the gyros. Our steamwagons burned coal and wood. It was just a matter of stoking the fire every few hours. This was something completely different, and if we couldn’t find a suitable substitute for the Vangars’ black oil, we’d never get that gyro to fly again.

  I found Cleff in his tent, already bedded down for the night. I gave him the bad news and then with his help, rounded up the rest of the mechanics. We set up lanterns around the southern end of the camp and collected all the tools we could find. “I know we can rebuild this machine in a few hours,” I told Cleff. “But we have to get the fuel problem figured out. Did you try mixing kerosene with whiskey, as we discussed.”

  “Not exactly,” he said, scratching the back head.

  I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I got to thinking about what a shame it would be to waste perfectly good whiskey when Jared Miller’s got a whole case of wood-alcohol in his wagon.”

  “Wood-alcohol?”

  “Yeah, the poisonous stuff. Good for cleaning up grease though, and it burns like a firecracker.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I had never realized Cleff was so clever. “So you got some from him?” I said.

  “Yep, I got the whole case. He says he has barrels of it back in his barn, if we need it. We’ll have to go get it, of course. That is, if it works okay.”

  “So you haven’t tried it yet, then?”

  “Well… I suppose I did.”

  I took a deep breath. Somehow I felt like my conversation with Cleff was just going in circles. “Is there something you’re trying not to tell me, Cleff?”

  He grimaced. “Well, now that you mention it I suppose there is. What I mean to say is that…”

  His voice trailed off. I felt myself tensing up. “Cleff, what is it? Spit it out!”

  “I, uh… I seized up the motor.”

  My eyes went wide. “Seized up? What does that mean?”

  “Well, I tried running it on alcohol like you said, and it worked for a minute. Then it just froze up. Pistons stuck solid.”

  “Froze up? Cleff, I said to mix alcohol with kerosene! Did you use pure alcohol?”

  He stared hard at the ground. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I clenched my teeth and my hands knotted up into fists. I wanted to give him a tongue-lashing for being so stupid. Then I wanted to lash him for real, for destroying the one piece of Vangar technology we had. I forced myself to calm down by taking deep, steady breaths. I dropped onto a bench by the table and rested my face in my hands.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t see the sense of mixing the fuel when I knew alcohol would burn so good.”

  I shook my head. “It’s all right, Cleff. We’ll figure it out. Let me have a look at it.”

  He guided me to the workbench and he showed me how the pistons had frozen solid inside the body of the engine. It seemed that no amount of torquing on the engine with a wrench would help, and we didn’t dare use a hammer for fear of breaking the pistons.

  I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though. I closed my eyes, searching inside the machine for the cause of the problem. My Tal’mar sight is most effective on organic materials like wood, or human flesh, but it functions in a limited fashion with steel also. I was a
ble to manage a look inside the engine, but I couldn’t find any specific problem. I could only guess that the lower viscosity of the wood-alcohol had allowed the pistons to overheat and get stuck.

  “Give me your tools,” I said at last.

  Cleff and I spent half the night tearing down and rebuilding the engine. Most of our tools didn’t fit the Vangar machine correctly, so we had to wake a smith in the middle of the night to modify our wrenches. Fortunately, his forge was still hot from working all day and he simply had to re-stoke it with coal. After that, it was a matter of disassembling the engine piece by piece, looking for a problem. We took the entire device apart, right down to the metal block, but the pistons were still stuck inside.

  “I’ve got an idea,” the blacksmith said. He took the engine block and placed it in a vice, and then used a large clamp to press down on the piston, bracing it on one end with a block of wood. I winced as I saw the clamp getting tighter and tighter. In my mind, I could see the entire engine block snapping in two. The slightest miscalculation could ruin the engine and destroy our entire plan.

  To my surprise, that didn’t happen. Instead, the pistons suddenly made a creaking sound and then popped loose. They plopped to the ground. The smith bent over and lifted them up, smiling brightly. Cleff and I rushed forward to examine them. After some close scrutiny, we determined that the pistons were in fact, wholly intact. I held the pistons close to the light, examining them for cracks or scratches. I was shocked at how smooth their surface was.

  “It worked!” Cleff said, patting the smith on the back.

  “All right,” I said at last. “Let’s put it back together. We’ve got four hours until dawn. Between now and then, we need to have this thing in one piece. And we need a suitable fuel.”

  Cleff’s grin disappeared. “I’m gonna need more coffee,” he said. I agreed.

  As the night wore on, the mechanics finished rebuilding the gyro’s airframe and headed to their tents, leaving the two of us to work on in silence. Cleff and I rebuilt the engine, carefully lubricating the inner components with grease as we reassembled the entire thing. Two hours later, we were finished. I let out a small cheer as Cleff spun the drive shaft around and the engine components whirred quietly, perfectly, working exactly as they should have. It was a small victory, but we cheered anyway.

  “Now let’s just hope it will run,” I said.

  Despite the fact that everything was moving as it should, it was still possible that the engine wouldn’t work. A tiny microscopic flaw or crack that we couldn’t even see might have destroyed the entire thing. With bated breath, we clamped the engine back down on the workbench and poured a jar of the black oil into the fuel tank (which was almost all we had left of the stuff). Cleff gave the starter wheel a spin and the engine turned over, chugging a few times. It failed to ignite. He tried it again. This time the engine blew out a puff of black smoke and then died. He shot me a worried look.

  “Give it one more try,” I said, hardly daring to hope.

  He wrapped the leather strap around the starter wheel and yanked on it as hard as he could. The wheel spun in a blur. The engine chugged. Another puff of black smoke blew out the exhaust. And then it turned over again, releasing a second puff of smoke. Then it took off, chugging and idling, spewing thick black smoke up into the air and building up speed until it sounded like a room full of schoolboys pounding on drums. Cleff shot me a triumphant grin.

  “We did it!” he said.

  I nodded. “Right. Now for fuel.”

  We already knew from Cleff’s experience that the machine would run on kerosene, but not very well. We also knew that pouring pure alcohol into the fuel tank would seize the pistons. We set out from that point, looking for an ideal mix. We started with mostly kerosene (which wouldn’t hardly turn the engine over at all) and worked our way down to a mix just over fifty percent. Every step of the way, performance improved. The engine ran smoother, produced more power, and the smoke went from black to pure white, and then almost vanished altogether. I could hardly believe the difference.

  “How much this time?” Cleff said, eyeing the fuel tank.

  “Let’s leave it at this mix,” I said. “We can’t afford to seize the engine up again. As far as I can tell, it’s running better now than when we got it.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’d say it is. Feels good to beat them Vangars at their own game.”

  “Yes it does,” I said, grinning satisfactorily.

  “If there’s nothing else then, I’ll be off to bed.”

  I nodded and thanked him for his help. Then, as the sky in the east turned orange with the coming dawn, I bolted the engine into place on the airframe and stood back to admire my work. I walked around the gyroplane, testing all the components to make sure they were tightly bolted into place. I checked the propellers, making sure they weren’t showing any signs of damage.

  When I was satisfied, I walked back over to the workbench and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee. Then, as I lifted the cup to my lips, a wave of nausea washed over me. For a moment, I thought I might vomit. I managed to hold it back and then the dizziness hit. The world spun, and I dropped the cup, grabbing the workbench with both hands. After a moment, it passed.

  “Are you well?” Analyn’s voice said behind me.

  I turned to face her. “Just a little tired I think. It was a long night.”

  She gave me a concerned look. “Are you sure? I won’t have you flying if you’re not well.”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her. “I think I’d better lay off the coffee, though.”

  I walked Analyn around the machine, describing the work we had done. As we talked, my illness passed. By the time the sun had crested the horizon, I was good as new, if somewhat groggy. Apparently, that was satisfactory for her.

  I retrieved a flight jacket and goggles, along with an old brass scope, and I returned to the gyro to find Robie waiting for me. He was holding a small rectangular box in his hands, and grinning from ear to ear.

  “I know I can’t talk you out of this,” he said. “And I know I can’t come with you. I figured this was the next best thing.”

  “What’s this?” I said. I shot Analyn a look and she just shrugged.

  “It’s a gift,” Robie said. “Open it.”

  I took the box and looked it over. It was nothing special, a simple wooden box with a brass clasp and hinges, but it was surprisingly heavy. I couldn’t imagine what the contents might be. I set it on the workbench, loosened the clasp, and lifted the lid. Inside, I found what appeared to be a revolver with brass and steel fittings, a walnut grip, and a small gauge on the side.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said awkwardly. “I’m not really a fan of guns, though. My ears…”

  “I know,” Robie said. “Trust me, you’ve never seen a gun like this before. Here, take a shot.” He gestured towards a large tree just south of us.

  I sighed. I could tell from the look on his face that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Reluctantly, I raised the revolver and peered down the sights.

  “There you go,” he said. “Just line up the sights-”

  “I know how to shoot, Robie,” I said. “I just don’t like the noise.”

  “Right. Well, go ahead then.”

  I grimaced. I leveled the sights at the trunk of the tree and squeezed the trigger. I heard a click and a whoosh, and instantly saw an explosion of bark in the distance. I felt a slight recoil, raising my aim a few inches, but nothing else. No kaboom, no scent of burning powder. I held the weapon in my hands, staring at it in awe.

  “What is this thing?” I said. “How does it work?”

  “It’s spring-loaded, just like a plane engine,” Robie explained. “I got it from one of the refugees who bought it in Avenston last year. See that hole on top of that grip? There’s a key for it in the box. When the spring runs out of energy, you just wind it back up. I don’t recommend doing it by hand, it’ll take all day. The key will fit in a small steam engine.”

 
I was still in shock. “And the gauge?” I said.

  “Just like a plane. It tells you how much energy is left. The guy who sold it to me said the revolver loses accuracy after fifty percent. You’ll have to aim high after that.”

  I stared at the thing, wondering if Tinker had ever seen one like it. I knew it wasn’t his handiwork because it had the maker’s mark on it, and also because I knew Tinker would have shown it to me if he’d known. This was something different, a new and clever use for a very old science. It was the sort of thing Tinker would love.

  “You like it then?” Robie said.

  “I love it! I can’t wait to show it to Tinker!” I threw my arms around Robie and gave him a long, hard kiss. He stepped away, blushing. I glanced at Analyn and saw her grinning widely.

  “Well, I’d better go,” I said reluctantly. I latched the safety on the trigger and tucked the revolver into my belt as I climbed aboard the gyro. Robie’s smile faded as he saw me getting ready to leave. I revved up the engine and he silently mouthed the words, “Be careful,” as I reached for the throttle.

  I smiled and winked at him. Then I was off, rocketing across the plateau towards the steep drop on the western side. I nervously watched the propeller overhead as it started to spin. I didn’t have much experience with the gyro yet and I wasn’t sure how quickly it could take off.

  I began to worry that I’d made a slight but deadly miscalculation. There wasn’t much runway space ahead, and the overhead prop wasn’t going very fast. If I didn’t achieve enough lift in the next few seconds, I’d plunge right over the edge. Odds were likely that the crash would kill me.

  I gunned the engine, giving it everything I had. I clenched my teeth and held my breath, knowing full well that if the engine failed or the overhead prop wasn’t spinning fast enough, it would be my last flight.